


Diversion

by Fierceawakening



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-06
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 07:26:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fierceawakening/pseuds/Fierceawakening
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumble finds Bumblebee damaged on a deserted battlefield and offers him a choice between fun and destruction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diversion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [femme4jack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme4jack/gifts).



Grinning, Rumble leapt onto the mangled yellow frame of his fallen enemy.

The other machine wasn't dead, but that didn't mean he looked good, splayed here at the bottom of a ditch with his lower limbs stuck half-transformed and his upper ones twisted at angles his joints surely didn't allow for.

Rumble settled on his chest, aiming his piledrivers more carefully than the situation called for. Although the yellow mech was bigger than he was, it wouldn't take much to punch through the twisted metal of his spark chamber right now. Even if he were conscious, which Rumble doubted, there wouldn't be much he could do about it. And Rumble could take credit for the kill.

"Hey, Autobot!" he taunted, though the other couldn't hear him. "Hey, Bumblebee!"

Killing wasn't what he wanted to do with this one. The yellow car was small, like him. The smallest the Autobots had, except for a few minibots the same size as Rumble himself.

Which made Bumblebee interesting in a way the enemy minibots weren't. If Rumble wanted someone his own size he could have some fun with Frenzy, not waste his time with another minibot who wouldn't even like him.

Bumblebee, on the other hand, was just different enough to catch his optic. Bigger than Rumble, but not huge, his head adorned with little horns that would be fun to squeeze and would fill his hands nicely. Then there was the yellow paint: bright, loud, unable to be missed.

So it would almost be a shame to kill him, especially here in the middle of a ditch where no one, Autobot or Decepticon, would see anything unless they knew they ought to be looking. But killing him was good enough, if that was all he could -

He froze, watching the optics of his enemy. They flickered with azure light.

"You're awake?" Rumble muttered, startled.

"What is it you want, Decepticon?" the Autobot said, frowning, tilting his head away. The staticky voice wasn't sarcastic, or cynical, or angry. It was bewildered, and confused, and a little afraid.

Bumblebee was one of those nicey-nice 'Bots. Rumble shouldn't have liked that. He should've come up with some way to make Bumblebee pay for it, some cutting remark that would hurt as much as whatever missile had landed Bumblebee down here.

Instead, he transformed one of his arms and wrapped a freshly shapeshifted hand around one of the horns on the Autobot's head. He stroked the horn slowly, making soothing noises.

Bumblebee froze, his engine sputtering in panic.

"Oh, calm down," Rumble snorted, puffing air through his vents. "Don't wanna hurt ya. Not unless I have to."

Bumblebee's optics hissed as they irised wider. "You're a Decepticon. How can you not want to hurt me?"

Rumble waved his upraised piledriver. "See this? I can use it to crush the spark in your chest -"

He lowered it with exaggerated gentleness, feeling the other's chest plates vibrate as it touched them. "- or make you feel really, really good. Up to you."

The ruined plating Rumble stood on rocked. He crouched, refusing to let the Autobot knock him off of it.

"You're glitched," Bumblebee rasped, his vocalizer hitching.

Rumble tilted his head. "Took ya until just now to notice that?"

"You really don't want to hurt me, do you?" Bumblebee whispered, his gaze suddenly unfocused and faraway.

Rumble grinned again, his hand moving on the horn, hot energy zipping through him as he felt the metal beneath his feet tremble. "Nope."

Bumblebee made a soft sound, perhaps in protest, perhaps in wonder. Rumble didn't care which. Where he came from, things like that meant yes as often as they meant no.

His hand slid off the horn, his arm quickly transforming. He raised his piledrivers and held them poised above his enemy's bright plating.

Bumblebee moaned.

"Please," the Autobot said, his voice still warped by static.

Chuckling, Rumble lowered them down.


End file.
